Determinant

Caution Exotic Animals

23 C a U t i o n e X o t i C a n i m a L S in the flashlight’s halogen beam, just left of the cars lined up—rows of old tractors, rust-chewed Fords— a lion breathed. its flanks lifted and dropped, the two discs of its eyes motionless. Just one crack of tony’s rifle had sent it running, breaking away from the men beside the barn, heavy, silent, dust bursting like dandelion seed where each paw hit. Fast. So fast the men felt an old fear: a fire making a hole in the dark, a stick sharp and small in their hands—even as those hands touched triggers. Zanesville, october. Hours before, in cold fall sun, terry Thompson had cut open the locks, stepped back, and shot himself. Seventeen lions, two wolves, eight bears, more—animals in threes and fours nosed open chain-link gates, pressed free. trained with raw chicken—whole— with soft sing-song. trained not to fear. They passed beside the house, beyond the cooling body to the farm’s edge and on. Some pushed into long yards, some made themselves small in huge driveways. Less like animals than parts of animals: manes burned whitely, dark nails cut pinpricks in the dirt. Soon men, too, were parts of men, fingers gripping metal, pulses sparking like cut wire, breath shuttered. They listened for a rustle behind, the far-off snapping of a gun. 24 and still, when the lion looked at them, sides falling and rising, they paused. This was nothing like the grizzly, their lead sprinkling its hide as it charged. not like the wolf they’d shot as it ran tail-down between the larches. now they all were still. Flat eyes beside a wheelless truck, a face large as a man’s chest, a mouth that opened slightly, like a cough. and when they shot, first Jay, then tony, then the others, they watched its eyes go soft, like a match dropped into water, ash curling to the top. The sound of the buckshot spread, carrying through the trees, along the highway, into empty garages. Long furred ears twitched at the sound, human ones tried to shut it out. ...